


An Acquaintance

by Swords_and_Lords



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Danger, Drama, Gen, Geralt of Rivia - Freeform, Inspired by The Witcher, Kaer Morhen, Magic, Maps, Mystery, Original Character(s), Other, Sorceresses, Taverns, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, The Witcher Lore, Triss Merigold - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:02:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22420738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swords_and_Lords/pseuds/Swords_and_Lords
Summary: Her eyes snapped back to the man in front of her.She wanted to see where he looked at all times, where he looked may hint at an unforeseen danger coming to the fore.If he looked over her shoulder or kept glancing to another table then she would know that he wasn’t here alone and that she’d need to be ready for anything. His eyes never left her face, the cat-like irises burning into hers.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	An Acquaintance

**Author's Note:**

> Drop me a message if I've missed any tags. Hope you enjoy!

An Acquaintance

Triss Merigold brushed the stray hair from her face and back behind her ear, never taking her eyes from the man in front of her. “What school did you say you were from?” The man opposite smiled mirthlessly whilst he felt for his medallion under his tunic. The cloth was too thick for her to even get an inkling of the shape of the medallion concealed underneath. This was strange in itself, every Witcher that she had met wore their medallion as a sign of pride, or at least occupation, out in full show.

People who knew them better understood that it was one of their most important tools: the metal would vibrate and glow to show the wearer that something arcane was close at hand. This man, choosing to hide his medallion, was starting to worry her and she regretted turning up alone to this meeting. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Witchers weren’t always welcome in the towns and cities and the occupants of the packed inns of Oxenfurt might not look kindly on the mutant flaunting his trade.

Her eyes snapped back to the man in front of her. She wanted to see where he looked at all times, where he looked may hint at an unforeseen danger coming to the fore. If he looked over her shoulder or kept glancing to another table then she would know that he wasn’t here alone and that she’d need to be ready for anything. His eyes never left her face, the cat-like irises burning into hers.

“My school is…little known, even to those who are familiar with our ilk.” He had become conscious of his hand and dropped it to his side. There was no further answer coming, Triss decided to drop that line of enquiry, for now. “Will you share with me the information that I require?” he asked, almost pleading. His left arm was starting to twitch, not enough for him to be casting a sign – no Witcher would be stupid enough to try casting a sign against a Sorceress at this proximity, it would be suicide. This tick seemed more muscular, involuntary. 

His turn of phrase piqued Triss’ interest again, he obviously knew that she knew where Kaer Morhen was and appeared desperate to know. Witchers, in the past, had visited each other’s’ schools and shared information; the fact this Witcher didn’t know where a brother school was and wouldn’t share his own school only increased Triss’ mistrust.

She knew this conversation had to end, it was a mistake and she needed to return to her lodgings and make Geralt aware… that is, if she could contact him. The fact that this man was a Witcher was not in question, everything from the swords to his features screamed Witcher and her trained eyes could see the biological alterations from where she sat, the eyes being the least of it.

Now she needed to leave, needed to without causing alarm. “I know the place that you are looking for,” she paused for what she hoped came across as dramatic effect but she was buying herself time to come up with a reason to leave, “me telling you where to go will not be enough. I have the map and talisman you’ll need to get there for your first visit – the wards are…difficult to penetrate without them; I’ll need time to get them.”

A weighted pause followed her ploy. The un-named Witcher stared at her, contemplating. The twitch in his arm becoming more of a tremor. With a sigh of exasperation the man tilted his head to one side “Tomorrow evening, here, same time.”

“I’ll need a couple of days to get everything together and ensure that the incantations on the talisman are fresh if they are to last you the journey.” Triss hoped that this extra time would be enough for her to get a message to Geralt or Dandelion for advice and information.

“I don’t have the time to wait that long – tomorrow evening, here…or my colleagues will become restless. Time is not something that we have much of Miss Merigold.” The Witcher’s ‘colleagues’ comment was about as subtle as an Aard blast. She didn’t know if he was alone, one Witcher would be challenge enough for her, more than one could be her death.

She smiled at him, nodded once and left the table. Triss hoped that her haste made it look like she had lots to do in the truncated time-frame rather than the cold fear she felt down the back of her spine.

Triss wasn’t easily shaken but she had to force herself not to look back at him as she left the inn. She caught sight of him through the window as she trekked passed in the pouring rain. He was still sitting at the table slowly raising his tankard to his lips with his good arm whilst staring into the distance lost in thought.

The rain intensified and brought Triss out of her musings. She needed to get back to her apartment, create a fake map and a fake talisman…one convincing enough to trick a Witcher. A tracking charm in the talisman would help her keep tabs on her new friend until back up arrived. If it arrived.

…

Jask remained in the tavern, the conversation with the sorcerer hadn’t gone as he’d hoped, he’d hoped to have met with Geralt of Rivia – he could have been more candid then. Miss Merigold had seemed amiable enough, but time was of the essence. He wasn’t in the habit of trusting sorcerers and even more suspicious that Miss Merigold hadn’t bartered for the knowledge at hand. The twitching limb continued; the flaw was getting worse. He knew that Merigold had seen it, no matter how much he had tried to keep it still, but it mattered little now.

If he couldn’t get his school to Kaer Morhen within the next couple of weeks, it wouldn’t matter.

His school would be doomed. Maybe it had been from the start.

…

Triss moved quickly through the alleys. A message to Geralt would take more than a couple of days and even then, it might not actually get to him if he was ‘hunting’. Dandelion was in town but the idea of asking him for advice on this situation may be unwise. Dandelion would never intentionally lead Triss astray or into harm, but he was known to be less able to consider the ‘whole picture’ if he was otherwise distracted by a knew conquest. No, she would deal with this, even if it was just to buy herself enough time to get out of Oxenfurt until she could get backup.

The map would be easy enough, any of an area of her choosing – it had to be roughly around Kaer Morhen in case the mysterious Witcher knew more than she gave him credit for. A talisman, any old bauble could be enchanted as the key to unlock runes on a map – the key to the lock of information she’d put onto the map. It had to be believable though, a tin necklace and a cheap map would not pass under scrutiny; it wouldn’t trick Geralt so it might not trick this school of Witchers.

She hadn’t been followed back to her lodgings, she was sure of that and that gave her pause where it should have given her a feeling of confidence. The Witcher had seemed desperate, the timeframe alone demonstrated that, why hadn’t he set one of his school as a tail to make sure it was done? The more that Triss dwelt on this, the more that she started to feel worried for the Witcher rather than scared. In their dealings, Witchers were shrewd and ruthless, he hadn’t questioned her, he’d put all his trust in a Sorceress that he had never met before.

Everyone knew that Witchers were a dying breed, the ability to make more Witchers had been lost a long time ago. They were an endangered and necessary species, killing one needlessly was not something that Triss relished but she could also not risk them reaching Kaer Morhen to cause harm. What could they want there? The school of the wolf was usually out travelling and hunting and there might only be Vesemir there.

She snapped herself out of her dark musings. There wasn’t time for this, she needed to act now.

To make this believable, it would take all night and most of the next day. She pulled her own map of the region and started to make the relevant notes and enchantments. A set of ruins sixty miles away from the true destination would be enough. She set to the task with a sense of dread and uncertainty.

…

The Witcher sat in the same seat, this time with his trembling hand under the table. Triss saw this more of a hiding action than for concealing a weapon – either way, she’d be cautious. Perching herself in the same seat as the previous night, she rested the leather wrapped package on the table.

The Witcher’s eyes glanced at it hungrily then rose back to hers with a pleading look. Triss registered this but kept her expression neutral. “I’ve brought what you asked, it’s yours,” the Witcher’s eyes widened and looked distrusting. “You have asked nothing for this, Miss Merigold. Why should I trust that you have done right by us?” His eyes flicked again to the package on the table. He readjusted in his seat, looking uncomfortable in this situation. There was no bartering, there was nothing for her to gain and this didn’t sit well with the Witcher. “I’ve known your kind long enough Witcher, and I know that you possibly have the hardest life of sentients except for those of the elves. I want to help you. Helping you may help me to repay a debt that I owe to another of your kind.”

The fight seemed to leave him, his face dropped, and his shoulders relaxed. He gazed at Triss, conflicting emotions playing behind his eyes, “I know you Sorceress, I know where to find you if you’ve led me wrong.” The threat sounded hollow, but it obviously made the Witcher feel more confident in a situation where he had little power. “I know,” was all she said.

He stood, took the leather wrapped package without checking and left the tavern. Triss sat a while longer. They lived in a world where life was cheap, nothing was free, and nothing was to be trusted. She watched the door that the Witcher had left through and pondered. He had trusted her, no questions. He was obviously desperate, Witchers weren’t usually this foolhardy – they didn’t live long if they were. She would wait, give him a day then follow the tracking spell that she had put on the talisman.

…

Triss had done well by him, he would remember this and, if he had the chance, he would repay her ten times over. He’d enter her services for a decade indentured if it would repay her. The map was old, the talisman a ring with a precious stone he felt the power within the enchantments, and they gave him comfort. Jask followed the map, guiding his horse with his knees and a slight pull on the reins with his free hand. The route unveiled itself gradually and the going was slow. It wasn’t like he could travel much faster in his current state in any case.

Days had passed and the going was slow, the attacks were coming more frequently. The muscle spasms, vomiting, neuralgia, clouding of vision were never far away. They came in waves, hourly rather than daily, constant tormentors and reminders of his flaws and the flaws of the men who had done this to him. The varying ailments were a cycle of torture as if his body were being passed from one sadist to another. Sometimes they’d all want a piece at the same time. He shook his head, this wouldn’t help him or his school, he needed to get there and get back for help. The potions he’d been given to hold back the symptoms were long gone. This was his last chance. If the others had failed, he was the last chance.

He set up camp for the night, tying up his horse and curling up in his cloak was the best he could manage. He’d sleep, after rest, he’d be able to proceed…

…

Triss was getting close, her scrying spell was stronger than it had been. The Witcher had stopped. Why had the Witcher stopped so far from his goal, did he know he was being followed? Not even Geralt had known the many times that she had tailed him; no, something was wrong.

She closed in on his location and saw him curled under a cloak. His horse was some distance away, its reins tangled in a branch it’d obviously snapped from its holding place. It grazed nonchalantly and looked quizzically at Triss. Her attention was drawn back to the still Witcher and she approached slowly, casting her scrying spell at the form, he was dead.

Spreading her senses further afield she knew that she was alone. She’d made a grave mistake if this was a trap, anything that could kill a Witcher may still be waiting in the shadows to take her too. There was nothing. This made her feel worse. Both his swords lay by his side and there were no obvious signs of injury.

Taking her time, she studied the body in front of her. Witcher’s were immune to most poisons and pathogens, they had to be to survive the changing process and to ingest the potions that heightened their abilities even further.

Triss stripped the armour and clothing from the corpse. The body looked much like any other but there were areas of wastage: deformed muscle, surgical scarring, and patches of mottled skin. These were old. Delving deeper with spells of searching, she saw that these weren’t the only signs that didn’t match up. The corpse was like a patchwork doll, parts not quite fitting or not quite as developed as others. This Witcher had not gone through the usual change. He had not been completed.

Triss had never heard of such a thing, a Witcher either survived the trials or they died. Her eyes were drawn to the Witcher’s amulet, what school would attempt these experiments and had gotten this so wrong? She turned the talisman over, her anger at what this man had suffered through bringing bile to the back of her throat. The talisman wasn’t of an animal school; no snake, wolf, bear…it was the sigil of Nilfgaard.

Triss dropped the talisman and stepped back quickly. All the rest of the equipment was genuine, no one would imitate a Witcher, no one liked Witchers. If what she saw was true, this ‘Witcher’ was an experiment, he was new.

She stared at the corpse for a long time, this changed everything. If she was right, Nilfgaard had tried to create their own Witchers, their own school. The art had been lost but they were getting close. If they succeeded, with their resources, this could change the tide of everything.

She needed to find Geralt, and quickly.

**Author's Note:**

> Just borrowing the characters- Please don't post this elsewhere.
> 
> I'm toying with carrying this on- let me know if you think this is a good idea?
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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